


barn party

by grapehyasynth



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: AU, Aggressively combative flirting, Alternate Universe, Barn parties, Butani Enterprises, Extended unnecessary focus on fitted sheets, M/M, Mutual Pining, No offense meant to the Amish and to people who marry their cousins, Out back behind the barn, POV David Rose, Paperwork, Rabid singles with pitchforks, Rated T for language and mention of threeways???, Singles Week, Squats, Strangers to acquaintances to coworkers to friends to lovers, Threats of PowerPoints, Yoga balls, cheese puffs, necking, these tags are longer than the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: David and Patrick's relationship, told through three barn parties. AU.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 49
Kudos: 216





	barn party

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to take place entirely/mostly in the barn, but as usual the story/the characters had other ideas, so as Sarah says, the barn's a McGuffin to get them where they need to go. 
> 
> ty sarah for making sense of the nonsense
> 
> Inspired by the BTS vid on the Schitt's Creek Youtube of David trying to guess the ingredients of Jocelyn's punch (under duress). I thought "oh god Patrick would have so much fun winding that s1 David up" and this happened.

_2015_

“I am never stepping foot in a barn again, after tonight,” David vows, sucking his teeth against the burn of Jocelyn’s mystery punch. “Never. Again.” 

Stevie hums. “Okay, but had you stepped foot in a barn before Tuesday of this week?” 

“Actually, I had,” he says loftily. Stevie has this annoying habit of making him feel defensive about things he shouldn’t feel defensive about. It’s this town; it’s warping all his ideas of what’s normal. 

“Oh really? Date a lot of farmers?” 

“Yeah,” he simpers, because frankly, she’s worse than Alexis sometimes. “Yeah, no, there was a phase in the mid-aughts when it was _very_ popular to, like, play up the pastoral grunge aesthetic? This one guy I knew threw a barn-raising party in a field on Long Island and then held an orgy in it. Like a debauched Amish situation.” 

“That’s my favorite category on PornHub. Amish debauchery.” 

“You’re sick,” he tells her. 

“What’s the nastiest thing you’ve ever done?” she grins, the edges of her teeth neon red from the punch, not a hint of judgment on the word _nastiest_. “Aside from, you know, us last month.” 

“This,” he declares without hesitation, waving a hand at the paper decorations and the floor that never looks clean, even after it’s been scrubbed thrice. He feels like he’s spent the months since they arrived in Schitt’s Creek pushing down his better instincts in an effort to accommodate, to fit in or hide or something, and never more so than during the process of putting together this sham of a birthday party for his mother. “This is the nastiest thing I’ve ever done. The lowest I’ve ever stooped. Planning this party, pretending to be _okay_ with these creative choices-” 

“Oh, hey man, did you plan this party?” 

There’s a guy at David’s elbow who’s probably been listening to their whole conversation - which, okay, wasn’t entirely the guy’s fault because he and Stevie have been lingering by the snacks table, but still. David doesn’t recognize him, which is a rarity in this town, but he fits in. He’s a bit... cleaner, somehow, than most of the people at this party, but that’s not a high bar. 

“It’s a great party,” the man adds, grin never faltering, turning fully to invite himself into their conversation. He’s got what David now thinks of as Twyla energy. “The, uh, the dried flowers were a great touch. Very welcoming.” 

David blinks open-mouthed at Stevie, who smirks into her drink. “Okay,” he says, “from your tone I’m getting the sense you think that’s a compliment. So, um, thank you, for that tragically misplaced praise.” He’s perpetually grateful that no one here seems to understand sarcasm; he can let off a little steam without offending anyone. 

The man laughs, swiping at his lower lip with the thumb of a hand that’s holding a beer bottle, a tic so casual that David would think it’s a move if he weren’t so good at reading when a situation is _not_ flirtatious. “Well, I did mean it as a compliment, yeah. I could try to find a Hallmark card that better captures the sentiment, if that’s more your aesthetic?” 

Stevie snorts. David narrows his eyes and tightens his arms over his chest. “Mhm, I _literally_ don’t know you, though,” he reminds the stranger, because this compact, close-cropped gremlin of an accountant or whatever-the-fuck has cut right through the last threads of his patience. 

There’s suddenly a hand in his space. “Patrick,” the man announces. “Now you know me.”

_Only in a small town would someone not read everything I’m putting out as a big GTFO_. “Delighted,” David says, bumping his cup against Patrick’s fingertips. 

“Don’t worry,” Stevie pipes up as Patrick retracts his hand, looking more amused than anything, “being rude to people is kind of David’s love language. It’s how we became friends, actually.” 

“Ah,” Patrick nods, not looking the least bit put off by this information. “Hey, Stevie, by the way. Good to see you.” 

“You two _know each other_?” 

“Even better, we’re related,” Stevie grins. 

“We’re, like, sixth cousins or something,” Patrick clarifies, waving his hand. “Mostly by marriage.” 

“Eugh,” David grimaces. “Don’t wanna do _that_ math. How worried do people around here have to be about dating within their families? Like, do you get the DNA test _before_ the first date, or...?” 

Patrick laughs again. It’s not the “I have no idea what you’re talking about” laugh he usually elicits from Jocelyn or the tolerant, “if you weren’t Alexis’s brother” laugh he’s heard from Mutt and Ted. He imagines it’s what Stevie’s laugh would sound like if she were a good enough friend to actually admit that he’s very funny, thank you _so_ much. 

“I have a general policy of keeping an abbreviated family tree in my wallet,” Patrick explains, his grin ruining the seriousness of his tone. “Just to allow for a quick check, to rule out the closest relatives.” 

“Mm!” David bites his lip against the chuckle that rumbles in his chest. “Very practical.” 

“Well.” Patrick shrugs in fake modesty. “It’s more affordable than the whole cheek swab thing, but we still get a few babies with tails every now and then.” 

Stevie is nearly shaking with laughter at this point, and David wonders what it says about _him_ that these dark weirdos are the people he finds worth talking to all night. “At least all of their pants will be bespoke, which is really a privilege.” 

“Oh! Speaking of,” Patrick says, as a woman squeezes her way under his arm. “This is Rachel. We’re not, as far as we know, related.” 

“Wow, I love being introduced that way!” Rachel smiles, rubbing a hand over Patrick’s chest with an easy affection David still finds foreign. “Have you been watching soaps with my grandma again? So many long-lost siblings ending up in bed together. Hey Stevie.” 

“David, Rachel, Rachel, David.” Patrick introduces them quickly, and David can see it - can see the way these funny, bright people fit together. He deigns to actually shake Rachel’s hand and doesn’t miss Patrick’s exaggerated expression of mock jealousy over it. 

“Patty, can I snag you away? Lena’s about to head out and I wanted to beg for the secret to her perfect tomatoes. Lena’s the best gardener in the Greater Elms,” Rachel confides to David. “You gotta ask her for tips.” 

“Oh, he will,” Stevie affirms loudly. “David’s really the farming type, when it comes down to it. A kitchen garden might be too small for him. Isn’t that right, David?”

Rachel smiles politely while Patrick - well, Patrick’s smug smirk confirms he overheard every bit of their earlier conversation about barns. 

“It was great to meet you, David,” Patrick says, and this time when he extends his hand David shakes it, forgetting, in the face of Patrick’s unwavering eye contact, to remain aloof. 

He then forgets, in watching Patrick and Rachel disappear into the crowd, that he’d decided not to drink any more of Jocelyn’s punch. He winces and gags. “What is _in_ this?” he demands of Stevie. 

  
  


_2016_

David is at the snack table again, fighting a sense of deja vu and almost wishing he’d just hitched all the way to New York when Roland’s truck broke down ( _almost_ ; the last year has done fucked up things to his notions of home) when someone says his name. He turns too quickly, a cheese puff suspended between his teeth, expecting it to be Jake, back to make his official come-on, but it’s-

“Oh,” he says, half the puff dissolving on his tongue and the other stuck ( _oh my god_ ) to his thumb, “it’s - hey, it’s you.” 

“Patrick,” Patrick reminds him. 

“I knew that,” David lies. “It’s good to see you again. You, um, you look nice.” 

Patrick glances down at his dark blue suit jacket, self-consciously smoothing the material. “Oh, thanks. I remembered you wearing a suit last time and I didn’t want to be underdressed but I’m getting the sense this year’s party is a little less formal? Not that your sweater is too casual,” he adds hurriedly, blushing, his eyes flitting between the splashes of white flowers on David’s chest. “It’s a very nice sweater.” 

“Mmm, it is, thank you,” David grins, settled by Patrick’s discomfort, wondering how he should interpret the fact that a full-on stranger remembers what he wore a year ago. He wonders if Patrick can see the changes the last year has wrought on David; he seems like the type to pick up on things like that. Then again, David is nothing if not a vessel for preposterous thoughts. “But yes, unfortunately last year was a fake charity fundraiser cum birthday gala, while this seems to be more-” He squints around the barn, packed with mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings in various states of inebriation. “Baby’s first frat party? Definitely not worthy of Givenchy.” 

“Ah. So we’re _both_ overdressed, really.” 

And then he just stands there, doesn’t make any attempt to quickly end the conversation, which - David doesn’t really know what to do with that. What to do with someone who lingers like this, looking at him like that. This is normally the part of a conversation where David would disengage, but something about Patrick’s teasing suggests he invites comebacks. “So I know there’s not much to do around here but do you, like, travel specially from your own tumbleweed town to come to this town’s barn parties, or-?” 

Patrick looks, if anything, pleased by this snark. “Yeah, you know, I just can’t resist the company and the refreshments. Been thinking about it all year. Started calling it the Mutt Gala in my head.” He laughs out loud at the look on David’s face. “I’m kidding. I moved here a few weeks ago and when my - my roommate told me about the party, I figured it would be a good chance to get to know people a bit better.” 

David ignores some pressing but irrelevant questions - _You moved here? Like, voluntarily? And, roommate? What are you, twenty-two?_ \- and focuses on staying on-brand. “Okay, _one_ , you sound _way_ too much like this town’s only doctor who is actually a veterinarian? So. Up to you if you want that to be the vibe you go for. And two, do _not_ conflate the Met Gala, hallowed be her name, and _this_ roll in the mud, I beg of you.”

“Did you not plan this year’s party, then?” Patrick grins, rocking back on his heels. 

“How _dare_ you,” David says, the answering twitch of his lips purely a side-effect of evolutionary mirroring instincts. “I had absolutely _no_ hand in planning this party, as should be _abundantly_ clear, so I can’t do much more than give you the run-down of food and drink options, but I can point you to the culpable persons if you’re looking to file a complaint-”

“Oh, I, uh, I didn’t come over here for that. I just-” Patrick shrugs, eyes narrowing in contemplation; David’s never seen someone who moves their body so little say so much with it. “I just wanted to get to know you better.” 

“Hmm. Because you’re new here,” David nods, drinking the rest of his vodka in one go. He’s used to this, here and in his past life. People gravitate to the shiniest things in the room before they realize they’re too complicated, too needy, too difficult. 

“Well, yeah,” Patrick says, and David’s stomach twists. “But also because -” 

But Jake is finally back, his large, work-rough hand on David’s wrist, inviting him outside. David glances at Patrick, who ducks his head and smiles politely. He shouldn’t feel - there’s nothing to feel torn about here, between a definite chance to make out with someone while proving Stevie wrong and a conversation with a snippy stranger, but he almost says no to Jake. 

_I just wanted to get to know you better_. Best to nip that right in the bud, for everyone’s sake. 

He follows Jake outside and kisses him and makes vague plans to see him again, and Patrick is gone by the time he returns to the party. 

  
  
  
  


But David doesn’t have to wait a year or for the next barn party to see Patrick again, to find out what he’d been about to say. 

A few days later, he’s taking an extended post-lunch coffee respite in Ray’s kitchen, which doubles as their breakroom, when Ray calls his name. And there, standing in the living room slash office, in that same blue blazer, is Patrick, who lets out a little laugh when he sees David. 

“What a coincidence,” he chuckles, shaking David’s hand. 

“There are no coincidences in a town of twenty-five people,” David corrects him, looking to Ray for an explanation. 

“Patrick will be joining us, David!” Ray announces, aquiver with glee, which is just his normal state of being. “I told you I was looking for a new business consultant, and it turns out I had one upstairs this whole time! Well, for the last month, anyway.” 

“Upstairs?” David asks sharply, picturing crazed ex-wives in the attic. 

“Yeah, I’ve been renting a room from Ray,” Patrick explains, and David thinks _ah, roommate._ “Ray, if I’d known you were looking for a new employee, I would have applied earlier.” 

David knows Ray well enough to know Patrick would have heard about the employee search the second it first crossed Ray’s mind, and he can also make the leap from never having seen Patrick at Ray’s house to the assumption that Patrick has been out actively looking for work elsewhere, but he doesn’t call him out on it. David knows better than most that Ray can be an acquired taste, albeit one worth acquiring. 

“Well, welcome to the team,” he says, with his best tolerant smile, and turns to leave them to it. “Don’t ask me questions before 10AM or touch anything on my desk and I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” 

“Actually, David, I was hoping you could help get Patrick settled,” Ray cuts in. “I’m off to lunch with Ronnie and then I have site visits all afternoon. And technically onboarding new employees _is_ part of your job description.” 

Biting back a comment that onboarding, new employees, and job descriptions haven’t actually ever previously existed in this workspace, David sighs. “Yes, of course. That’s fine.” 

Ray beams and bustles off. Patrick holds out a folder, which David sees he’s actually fucking hand-labeled as _Patrick Brewer Onboarding Forms_. “This is for you, then, I guess. Please don’t steal my social insurance number.” 

“Mm, no,” David says, pushing the folder back towards Patrick with one fingertip. “I once assumed ‘setting up an IRA account’ meant subscribing to _This American Life_ and really fucked up my former boss’s future financial stability, so. I’m not to be trusted near anything HR-related.” 

Patrick chuckles, the way he keeps doing at things David says, like he’s charmed. “Well, David, while that’s definitely tragic, I don’t think one mistake exempts you from having to do something ever again, especially in the workplace, where it’s _literally_ a requirement that you do it. But, uh, maybe we can do it together?” 

David props a hand on his hip and considers Patrick, who seems undeterred by the attention. “Fine,” he huffs at last, snatching the folder. “But only because otherwise you’ll probably sneakily increase your base salary or something.” 

“Ray’s lucky to have you,” Patrick comments innocently, following David to his desk. There’s no second chair, so Patrick perches on the yoga ball Ray insisted on buying but has never used. 

“You have _no_ idea,” David sighs. 

No one is more surprised than David that he’s still working for Ray after all these months. It had started - so David had told himself and anyone who would listen - as a sort of charity consultation, but he’d been forced to drop that explanation after he realized he actually _respected_ Ray. He wants to strangle him half the time, sure, but the man is tenacious and flexible and innovative. He sees opportunity where David would - where David _does_ \- see junk on the side of the road or a cranky flock of bingo players. Ray’s ideas are another matter. Like, Ray is _always wrong_ about the creative choices he makes, just, objectively. But somehow it works? He is, quite frankly, a better businessperson than any of the frauds and grifters David hung around with in New York. 

And David can admit to himself that Ray’s not the only one benefitting from the set-up. David’s always been told he’s scattered and willful and unmotivated, or motivated in the wrong ways. He’s always assumed _nice_ bosses would let him just keep on being all of that and that he needs tough love to get anything done. But when Ray gives him feedback, even when he has to tell David he monumentally fucked up by not sending in a contract on time, he does it with a smile, this genuine smile that says _I’m still glad you’re here; we’re learning together_ and other bullshit that’s probably on posters in Jocelyn’s classrooms, and David comes away feeling chastened but determined. He wonders if he’s outgrown that willful and unmotivated phase or if he’s always been just a little bit misinterpreted. 

“You have very neat handwriting,” David says disdainfully to Patrick, because he’d just about rather go skinny-dipping in the creek with Roland than admit that he likes when other people are tidy and organized, that he respects and, okay fine, sometimes kind of gets the hots for people with systems and plans and schemas. 

“Thanks,” Patrick says, as David enters information about Patrick’s beneficiaries, trying not to take in the personal details - _parents_ , he thinks, looking at the names and ages, _no spouse_. “I got top marks in my kindergarten class. I still use Mr. Baldwin as a reference.” 

David props his wrists next to the keyboard as aggressively as he can and shoots Patrick a look. “Do you _want_ me to mistype and make you ineligible to receive your benefits?” 

“Because I made a _bad joke_?” Patrick demands, half incredulously, half laughing. 

“ _No_ ,” David harrumphs, because although he’s not above that level of pettiness, that’s not what’s happening here. “Because you’re _distracting_ me with all of your talking.” 

“You talked first!” Patrick laughs, the movement unsettling him on the yoga ball so that he has to catch himself on the edge of David’s desk. 

“ _I_ can talk while I work, I just can’t _listen_ while I work.” He spreads his hands to emphasize how _obvious_ this is. 

“Right. Hey David?”

“Yes, Patrick?”

“Are you this welcoming to all new employees?” 

David drapes himself dramatically over the keyboard, entirely abandoning his already-half-hearted efforts to process Patrick’s paperwork. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, knowing it’s a lie; he’s never onboarded anyone before (except sexually, but that’s a different story), but he can’t imagine being this overtly hostile. He’s also determined to keep pretending like this isn’t the most fun he’s ever had at work. “You are getting the _very best_ treatment Butani Enterprises can offer.” 

When they finish the painstaking process of entering Patrick’s info into the system, David gets him set up at the small secondary desk on the other side of the room. Patrick says something about emails and “getting acquainted with the third quarter numbers” and then he just - he fucking falls silent. Like, for _hours_ . Every time David looks up, which is _not_ often thanks so much, Patrick’s just bobbing on the yoga ball he’s opted to continue using, his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration. Like David’s not even there. 

He considers throwing a paper airplane or something equally childish, but the longer the silence stretches, the more awkward breaking it would feel. He wonders if he’d pushed Patrick too far, been a bit too much himself - he’d thought they were ... chill, or whatever, because they’d met previously, but maybe Patrick had just been humoring him. 

He accepts, by the third time he has to restart the mock-up for Mrs. Kim’s closet reno, that he’s disappointed. He likes days when he’s alone at Ray’s and can turn on a podcast and get lost in his work, but - he’d kind of been hoping Patrick would keep distracting him, like he’d shown such promise of doing. 

It has nothing to do with the way _I just wanted to get to know you better_ has been echoing in his head for the last few days. No connection. They’ve had literally three conversations; he needs to chill. 

At 5:03PM, Patrick makes a satisfied noise and starts zipping up his leather portfolio, because he’s a businessman in the 80s. “Are you headed to the cafe, David?” 

“Oh are we talking now?” David demands, his brain-to-mouth filter still apparently on its lunch break. 

“Well, the work day’s over,” Patrick explains calmly, crossing the room to stand in front of David’s desk, “and you did tell me not to talk to you while you were working.” 

This guy is either very thick or - oh, okay, David recognizes the far-too-blase way Patrick is smiling at him. “Very funny. You’re _very_ funny. Um, we both know that I didn’t mean to _literally_ never talk to me, so let’s just drop the creepy silence tomorrow.” 

“Whatever you want, David. I’m going to head to the cafe if you want to join me? Otherwise I’ll have spent literally twenty four hours in this house.” 

“Tragic,” David pouts. “Um, I can’t though, I have a - a thing.” 

“Ah.” Patrick nods. “The strapping guy from the party?” 

_Strapping_. Interesting. “Um. Yes, if you must know. Jake. We’re doing great, thanks.” Patrick doesn’t need to know that David’s entire family had walked in on Jake half-naked in David’s bedroom or about the whole Stevie-also-dating-Jake thing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though! Great work today. Really inspired. Excellent - synergizing. Keep up the KPIs.”

He can’t shake an unsettled feeling as he walks away from Ray’s in the direction of Jake’s woodshop. Like he’s left something unfinished with Patrick. It’s just the weirdness that comes with something new, he presumes. 

Still - _I just wanted to get to know you better_. 

  
  
  


Of course, the next day, Patrick takes him at his word again, in the complete opposite direction, and talks _constantly_. He’ll lure David in with work-related questions or mundane little asides and then David looks down to find an hour has passed. Ray comes back from his morning appointments to find David heatedly defending Sienna Miller’s stage performances. 

“Oh, how _lovely_!” Ray exclaims as he breezes through. “I’m so glad you two are getting along. I had a good feeling about this partnership, I really did!” 

Patrick catches David’s eye and grins, and they both look down at their desks and their long-forgotten work, and David doesn’t think he’s the only one who’s blushing. 

  
  


After Patrick’s first week of settling in, their work time largely diverges, so David doesn’t have to do much reflection on why he’s started leaving the office a little later every day. His and Patrick’s specific duties under the Butani Enterprises umbrella rarely intersect, and usually one or the other of them will be out of the office or in consultations with Ray. They have “all-staff meetings” twice a month, but otherwise it feels more like they’re sharing a coworking space than working for the same company. (David should know; he’d had, like, five friends who used their parents’ money to establish coworking start-ups in New York.) 

Still, sometimes David will bring Patrick a muffin from the cafe on his way in, or he’ll come back from location scouting for a photoshoot and find some dumb Elm Ridge-branded stress ball on his desk, or maybe a “Elm-iss you!” fridge magnet. Because Patrick has taken Ray’s encouragement to accept freebies from business meetings and leaned the fuck in, while also apparently deciding David should be the recipient of said _horrific_ freebies. 

And honestly, David’s not even sure what Patrick does? Like one day he’s in the yard of the motel doing squats, because the number of people regularly seeing his naked body has increased by 100% since this thing with Jake started, and Patrick comes striding over, dressed for business even though it’s a Saturday. 

“What are you doing here?” David pants, dabbing his face with a towel. 

“Good morning to you too, David, lovely to see you as ever,” Patrick grins. “I’m just dropping off some paperwork for Stevie. Ray and I helped look over some contracts she needed to renew.” 

“Oh.” David frowns. “Um. Is everything okay with the motel? You don’t have to tell me if that’s - confidential, or whatever.” 

Patrick shifts, leaning back on his heels as if seeing David anew. “The motel is fine. _Stevie_ is fine. It’s just annual requirements, nothing dire.” 

“Good. I mean-” David waves his hands. “Not that I care. If this place gets repossessed maybe I’ll actually get a room of my own again.” 

“Right. Well, I should-” Patrick gestures over his shoulder with the folder he’s holding. “But hey, we should work out together sometime.” 

David laughs. “Yeah, no. This is a panic-induced workout which I will not voluntarily be repeating. If anything, _this_ whole situation is _your_ fault.” 

Patrick blinks down at the crappy yoga mat and David’s six hundred dollar sneakers. “Excuse me?” 

And yeah, fuck, David doesn’t know where he was going with that. Well, he _does_ , but. If he says what he actually means, Patrick will definitely, willfully misunderstand it. “It’s just, back at the barn party, you said - you said you wanted to _get to know me better_.” 

The broadening glee on Patrick’s face confirms he’s jumped to the misinterpretation David feared. “David,” he says, voice all soft and tremulous with barely-controlled laughter, “do you _think about me_ while you’re having your threeway?” 

Oh so Patrick knows about that, then. Great. 

“Okay, _no_ !” he snaps, nearly poking Patrick in the chest. “It’s not a threeway, it’s a _throuple_ , and it’s not even that! I’m dating Jake, and Stevie is dating Jake. It’s - it’s modern, and very normal. You wouldn’t understand. And don’t flatter yourself, I don’t _think about you_ ,” he adds, because that’s the more pressing point. “It just - that thing, that you said, got me thinking about people not knowing me, and this thing with Jake - wow, this is not a conversation I want to be having with my coworker,” he mutters. 

Patrick’s gone oddly serious again, though, running his hand along the edge of the folder like he does when Ray’s laying out one of his more convoluted proposals. “So thinking about not being known... led you to do squats. To keep people focused on your body rather than on your...soul, or whatever?” 

_Fuck you_ , he wants to snap, like he used to respond to therapists who understood him a bit too well, a bit too quickly. “Like I said, panic-induced exercise.” He squints into the sun rather than having to look at Patrick. “It’s stupid, anyway. Jake’s...Jake. I knew what I was getting into.” 

“I don’t think it’s stupid. We’re all trying to distract ourselves, or others, from the hard truths in our lives.” 

“Okay, Frank Ocean, save the depression for your album,” David chuckles, and the moment breaks, Patrick meeting his gaze and laughing along. “You should - you should get those to Stevie. And I have, like, five hundred more squats to do.” 

Patrick dips his head and gives him a little wave. As he walks away, he calls back, “Knees over your ankles, David!” 

“Motherfu-” 

So anyway. Paperwork, contracts, helping small local businesses navigate the red tape - that seems to be part of Patrick’s job. 

But it can’t all be that, because a week or so later, Alexis announces she’s looking at apartments and recruits David to go with her, in case the realtor is a skeevy predator and, “like, not cute”. Stevie tells them Ray’s the only realtor in town, so it sounds like a waste of an afternoon for David, but if Alexis is planning to abandon him and if he continues to have liaisons with Jake that are best conducted out of earshot of his parents, maybe he should be looking for apartments too. This could be a practice run. 

Except instead of Ray, Patrick walks in. 

David blurts out, “Are you _stalking_ me?” 

Patrick, with a mismatch between his voice and his perfectly innocent face that reminds David of Stevie (and oh god, they _are_ related), says, “Yes. Yes, I’m stalking you. It’s my job to come and show you this place but I thought I’d set that aside for the afternoon and focus on stalking you.” 

David cuts him a look. “ _O-_ kay.” 

Alexis, whom David has unfortunately forgotten is about to step into this situation, sweeps over and slaps David with the back of her hand. “Oh, great, David, you don’t have to stay after all! The realtor _is_ super cute.” And then she just flounces away, like it’s _fine_. 

“You think I’m super cute?” Patrick queries, head tilted, the same way he asks David to grab something from the printer. 

“ _No_ , it was - it was a general hypothetical? Before we even got there, Alexis and I were - I was making fun of her, and I said - ugh. I didn’t know it would be you. Not that you’re _not_ cute, it’s just -” 

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, and for a guy who’s possibly, probably, almost definitely still dating his childhood sweetheart he’s enjoying this way too much. David presses his lips together, torn between mortification and a smile that always seems to want to betray him when Patrick is around. 

The apartment is a bust, obviously, because David and Alexis each want privacy but not _that_ level of privacy, but David still takes something away from it. Patrick helps local businesses with the paperwork and he also shows people apartments. David feels a little itch of inspiration. 

He could ask Ray, he thinks, watching Patrick across the room on one of those rare, precious days when they’re both in the office. (Patrick’s on the phone with a customer; he’s so good with people on the phone, David has noticed. He spends way more time listening than talking but always comes away with something to show for it. His mouth gets a little tight while he talks, like he’s keeping everything in control, and David really needs to stop looking at his mouth.) He could’ve asked Ray a while ago, if he’d known what exactly the business side of Ray’s business entailed. And if Ray were like Patrick. 

Because David almost thinks he could tell Patrick, and even after all these months of working with Ray, he’s never felt ready for that. 

Patrick finishes up his call and David’s on his feet, when did that happen? 

“Hey, Patrick, question,” he forces out, crossing the room and tapping the leg of Patrick’s desk with the toe of his shoe. 

Patrick’s finishing jotting down some notes from the call but he glances up at David and his mouth has relaxed. Fuck, David’s looking at his mouth again. “Hey David, answer,” he replies, because he’s fifty and, apparently, a dad. 

"Nooope," David says immediately, shaking his head rapidly. "I take it back. I don't want your help."

Patrick laughs, reaching across the desk towards David as if to tug him closer. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. What's your question?"

"Ummmmm." David scrunches his eyes closed. "Can you explain, um, business? To me?"

His torso still stretched over the desktop, Patrick props himself up on his forearms, looking consideringly at David. No one _considers_ things that David says. 

"Can you...be a bit more specific?" Patrick says at last. 

"Ugh! No, Patrick, I cannot be more specific! If I could, I wouldn't need you to explain it to me!" David huffs. 

"Okay, well..." Patrick looks around at his work paraphernalia as if for support. "Just give me a few days and I'll put together a PowerPoint. We can start with the origin of the word _business_ , maybe dip into the evolution of economic philosophy-" 

"I hate you," David declares, storming back to his own desk. "Thanks so much."

"David, please come back." Patrick manages to sound contrite through his laughter. "I really do want to help you, you just have to tell me where this is coming from so I can tailor my explanation."

Mmm, tailoring. What a good tailor in Venice could do to Patrick's inseam -- "Nope, it's too late, the ship's sailed, I'll just ask Ray or, like, shame-google all my questions in the bathroom later, like I did after my woefully inadequate sexual education classes."

“David.” Patrick’s practically pouting. It’s a cute look for him. What _isn’t_ a cute look for him? “I don’t want you to end up with the business equivalent of an STI.” 

“It’ll be on your head,” David says loftily, and then he hides behind his computer, declaring the conversation done. 

But he can’t focus anymore, now that the idea is halfway out of the bag, now that he’s intimated to Patrick that there’s more to David Rose than snippily assessing other people’s choices. 

David’s accustomed to showing people the worst bits of himself. He used to want to show his best, but then people never really wanted it, acted like his best was nearly as bad as his worst. So he flipped that all on its head, keeping what he thinks of as the good parts mostly to himself. 

But in Schitt’s Creek, where people ask him for help, where he can always expect a sunny greeting, where he understands his own family better than he ever has, he wants to try something different. Not, like, _too_ different - these people are still _willfully_ defying most principles of fashion, cuisine, design, and skincare; he’ll never be _one of them_ \- but different. 

Like now. He not only thinks he _could_ tell Patrick about his business idea: he wants to. Patrick makes him want to. Patrick has this steady pull towards vulnerability that would make David itch all over if he didn’t feel so... _comfortable_ with Patrick. 

This, and not Patrick’s increasingly loud and dramatic sighs from the other side of the room, leads him to open the intra-office chat software Ray had insisted on. 

**David** : i’m sorry i said i hate you

 **David:** i don’t hate you

 **David:** will you still help me

There’s a snort from Patrick’s desk. “David, really?” 

**David:** i’m not ready to speak to you yet

 **David:** also this might be easier if i type it rather than say it

 **David:** also let me live out my you’ve got mail fantasy for FIVE SECONDS

**Patrick:** but this isn’t email

 **Patrick:** and I’m not Meg Ryan

 **Patrick:** and we’re not nemeses

“Says you!” David calls. 

Neither of them mention how _You’ve Got Mail_ ends. 

**Patrick:** So. Welcome to my office, Mr. Rose. You were a little vague when you called for an appointment. Can you fill me in on what you need? 

David wrings his hands over the keyboard for a moment. He thinks of Patrick and the brave, straightforward, soul-baring way he says things like _I just want to get to know you better._

Then he curses, stands up, and stalks back over to Patrick’s desk. Patrick leans back, looking up at David, eyes wide at his sudden fire. 

“I want to start my own business,” he declares, pressing each word out deliberately. 

Patrick’s mouth curls slowly into an unabashed smile. “David, that’s great. That’s really, really great.” 

David has been bracing for pity; he squints at Patrick’s earnestness. It might be worse than pity? “It’s probably a terrible idea. Like, the idea is good, I think, but me starting a business - oof. Yikes. I mean, who would trust _me_ with, like, anything?” 

“You had the sense to ask me for advice, so you can’t be all cobwebs up there,” Patrick shrugs, grinning wider when David scowls. Of course this fucking troll isn’t going to make it easy for him. “Why don’t you pull up that yoga ball and fill me in a bit more.” 

“Gross,” David mutters. But he does. 

  
  
  
  
  


“I mean he’s obviously not into me,” David muses, counting the pillowcases for the tenth time as Stevie changes some sheets. “We’ve been working together for, like, four months? And he hasn’t _once_ made a move.” 

Stevie had tried to postpone this conversation until they could both get high, but David’s a few weeks out from opening his store - to coincide with the upcoming, supersad singles thing, because duh - and his chances to flirt daily with Patrick are dwindling. 

“Maybe he feels weird hitting on his coworker. He _oozes_ respect.” 

“Let’s not talk about Patrick _oozing_ anything, mmkay?” David sighs and moves on to rearranging the cleaning supplies on Stevie’s cart. “I just - I felt hopeful, despite every previous experience that should’ve taught me not to expect anything. I still thought... that he was different.” 

“He _is_ different, David. And so are you. I like to think about who you were when I first met you. I like to think about who you were and laugh myself right off the bar stool thinking about it. That’s how I know you’re different now.” 

“Choke on a feather duster, Stevie.” 

The fitted sheet she’s attempting to wrangle snaps back and she huffs at him in frustration. “Would you just- grab the-” 

He pouts but gingerly tugs the opposite corner of the sheet. 

“And since we’re already hackles-deep in the sincerity here, I don’t just mean that Patrick’s different from the jerks you’ve dated in the past, myself excluded, obviously. He’s different around _you_ , David. More...” Stevie waves her hands in a passable imitation of David. “Open. Like, eyes wide, chin up, chest out, big grin, cartoon character open.” 

David suddenly finds this whole sheet-tugging business deeply fascinating. 

“And I know he’s got an amazing work ethic that makes you go weak at the knees but I don’t think he’d work overtime for just anyone.”

“What?” David asks sharply, releasing the corner so quickly the whole sheet curls up in the center of the mattress again. “He’s not - he’s not working overtime to help me.” 

This time Stevie comes fully around to pull the sheet over the corner and then clamp David’s fingers around it. “Don’t fucking let go unless you want the ratty towels for the duration of your stay,” she commands. Rounding back to her corner, she goes on, like she’s not tipping David’s world on its axis, “And yes he is. Ray was talking about it at Brebner’s. How he can’t believe he scooped two such wonderful, hard-working young men. How Patrick’s been burning the midnight oil to get Rose Apothecary on its feet. If you weren’t banned from Brebner’s maybe you’d someday not be the actual last person in this town to hear about things.”

David chews his lip to fight a smile, but his whole face feels traitorously, delightedly twitchy. “I’m sure he’d help anyone that thoroughly.” 

“Uh-huh.” Satisfied this time, Stevie snaps out the flat sheet and floats it over the bed. “From what I hear, Bob’s been hounding him about making that bagel thing viable, and I don’t see Patrick visiting _Bob_ every day with updates.” 

“Okay, why the fuck have you not told me any of this?” he demands, flapping his begloved hands at her. “This is necessary context, Stevie!” 

“You’re the one eyefucking him every day at work! At _two_ workplaces, now! You shouldn’t need me to guide you by the hand. Lead a horse to water, jesus.” 

  
  
  
  
  


_2017_

David decides to forgo a formal opening event for the store. There’s too much going on with Singles’ Week. “Your stupid event is distracting from mine!” he insists, when Alexis coos at him that he’s being a thoughtful brother and letting her shine. Ew. 

He’s finishing up at Ray’s, working a long last day there before opening the store on the first full day of Singles events. He hadn’t meant to work late but Alexis had roped him into dropping those dog t-shirts at Ted’s, and there’d been a whole emotional heart-to-heart, and by the time he got into work it was time to break for lunch. 

He thinks Patrick wrapped up thirty minutes ago, but he’s lingering, reorganizing things on his desk and checking if there are messages on the office landline. 

“Well,” David sighs, when he’s submitted his last timesheet and logged out. “I hope your next coworker is as much fun as me, but I won’t hold my breath.” 

Patrick nearly knocks a mini cactus off the corner of his desk. “Um, actually, if the grants we applied for go through, _you_ could be my next coworker. Again.” 

David pauses, his work bag halfway zipped up. “I’m sorry?” 

“Yeah, I, uh.” Patrick’s rubbing the back of his neck like he does on the rare occasions he feels uncomfortable. But he’s stepping closer, like being nervous isn’t an impediment for him. “I’ve been meaning to run it by you, and then I thought it could be a nice surprise, but I’m realizing I should have found a more formal way to propose it. If, uh, if you aren’t sick of me, and if the funding comes through, of course, I’d love to come work with - for - you. I’m really... invested in the store.” 

“Uh-huh.” It’s not that David doesn’t like the idea of Patrick working at Rose Apothecary, his baby, the store he’s manifested from just a seedling in his head into an actual, beautiful, functional space. He _does_ like the idea. He likes it _so much_. But he remembers what Stevie had said, about Patrick being respectful, about ‘maybe he feels weird hitting on his coworker’. 

“Tell you what,” Patrick says, because David has apparently frozen, torn between two great but ultimately unsatisfactory options. “Why don’t I take you out to a last-day-working-at-Ray’s dinner? My treat. We can talk more about what it would look like if I were to come work with you-” 

“Oh,” David winces. “Um.” God. This is mortifying. “I was actually - I was going to go to the barn party tonight? Normally it would be below me, but. It’s Singles’ Week’s opening salvo, and it would mean a lot to Alexis for me to be there, and as the self-appointed president of Schitt’s Creek’s Singles Club I feel like I’d be remiss to not make, like, one round? See what the options are...” 

“Huh.” Patrick’s face is doing a different kind of furrow now. His stupid face with all its stupid expressions. David wants to know all of them. “I thought - you and Jake and Stevie-” 

“First of all, there was never a _me and Jake and Stevie_ and _you know it_ ,” he shoots back, just to see Patrick laugh. “And god, no, that ended _months_ ago. No one - no one since then,” he finishes, voice a little too high, not sure why he’s telling Patrick this. 

“Well. Let’s do that then.” Patrick grabs his phone from his desk and looks at David expectantly. “I was thinking about checking out some of the events too, so why don’t we go together, instead of dinner?” 

“Won’t you - won’t Rachel-” 

“Rachel?” For some reason this seems funny to Patrick. “Did you think - all this time you thought - Rachel and I broke up eight months ago, David.” 

“Right.” So, Patrick is single. _Has_ been single. Has been working overtime to help David’s dreams possible. Wants to get to know David better. And at least for now, is not David’s coworker. “So. We’re both single. And we’re both going to this barn party.” 

“Like old times,” Patrick grins. 

David doesn’t know where it comes from, the mysterious rush of courage that propels him to hold Patrick’s gaze. He thinks it comes from months of seeing Patrick give and give and give of himself. “Um, you know, it might be best if we arrive separately?”

Patrick’s face falls. “Wha - why?” 

“Just, all those rabid singles,” he says seriously. “They might attack us with pitchforks if they think we’re together.” 

“Ah.” Patrick’s cheeks go pink at the words _we’re together_. “Well, David. That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  
  
  
When they arrive, the barn is looking passably cute, lit up with strings of lights and excited voices carrying across the dark lawn. Inside, it’s packed, like every single for forty miles has turned up. 

They’ve missed Alexis’s opening speech, which is probably for the best, given David’s penchant for second-hand embarrassment. It seems like there’s some kind of game going on, he thinks, the way people are bustling and shrieking and elbowing each other-

The music stops, and everyone lunges for a chair. Twyla’s across from Eric, and another half-dozen Jazzagals are also here, and-

“Oh my god,” David gasps, reaching out to grip Patrick’s arm. 

Ted is here, sitting across from Alexis, who looks stunned, gorgeous and confident and completely floored by her ex, who’s clearly saying something earnest and heartwarming.

“ _You_ did this, David,” Patrick whispers, leaning over to run a hand over David’s back. David had told him about the cringeyness of the morning, never expecting this is how the day would go, with Ted taking Alexis by the hand and helping her to her feet, with the crowd gasping, with Patrick’s hand warm and reassuring on his lower back. 

“Oh my god,” he repeats, stuck on that exclamation, on that non-thought, on that emotion, as Alexis lights up and leans in to kiss Ted, _fucking finally_. He shakes his fists in triumph. 

“David,” Patrick says, sounding awed, and David looks at him, finds that Patrick looks the way David feels, all glowy and warm. “David, are you _crying_?” 

“Oh, shut up,” David laughs wetly, and he reaches up to wipe away his tears but Patrick’s hand is already there, his thumb gently dabbing at the moisture, not dragging the skin, just like David has lectured him about, some dumb, slow day at Ray’s, when Patrick had been nodding along like everything David said was important. _God._ “P-Patrick-” 

“Let’s talk outside,” Patrick says. 

David wants to tease him that they came for the event and he has to eye up the prospects and find the snack table, but Patrick’s hand is in his and maybe the cheese puffs can wait. 

They go around the side of the barn, where it’s dark and quiet and the night is filled with the sounds of tree frogs. David clears his throat, blinking away the last of his happy tears. The air’s a bit too muggy, even out here, away from the crowd, but he still stands closer to Patrick than is maybe necessary. 

“What did you - what did you want to talk about? Employment contracts? Dividends? Onboarding?” 

And Patrick, calm as can be, but with a little involuntary flutter to his eyelashes that tells David everything, says, “I just wanted to kiss you, and I knew I couldn’t do that in the barn. I know how you feel about barns.” 

“Well,” David whispers. He puts his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, like he’s imagined doing every day for the last five months (at least), and Patrick has to step closer so that he can settle his hands at David’s waist. “Barns are actually starting to grow on me.” 

“Oh,” Patrick breathes.

Their first kiss is effortless in a way David has never believed first kisses could be. He knows first kisses to be awkward or drunken, or awkward _and_ drunken, definitely desperate and uncertain, but this is like - this is like two people who’ve been kissing for years, meeting in the middle, Patrick’s arms steady, David’s heart full. 

And David has necked out behind the barn with enough people to know that this is special.

  
  



End file.
